


Ancient Truths

by Shadow777997



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dumbledore means well but is going a bit senile when it comes to his plans, Female Harry Potter, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom, Mentor Minerva McGonagall, Mentor Severus Snape, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27125827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow777997/pseuds/Shadow777997
Summary: Fate was a fickle thing when you have gods willing to change the details of yours. A fact Amara Potter was quickly starting to realize upon finding out not only was magic real but that she was apparently a witch like her mother.The Wizarding world has no clue how to handle someone like Amara, and she fully intended to cause as much mischief as possible to everyone that tried to have a say in how she lived HER life.
Relationships: TO BE DETERMINED - Relationship
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	Ancient Truths

The night Amara Potter became the Girl-Who-Lived is a night that most of the entire Wizarding world knew well. How could the story of a one year old girl vanquishing the Dark Lord be anything but well known within only a few hours? What the wizarding world didn’t know - what none but a few would _ever_ learn - is that night bore more witnesses than any could have imagined.

Death was of course the obvious specter to be thought of in accordance with who would deem dreary Godric’s Hollow a place worth visiting on Halloween of ‘81 - the night two-thirds of the Potter family were murdered. And while death may have very well come and gone with the souls of Lily and James Potter once their lives were cut short, he was not the only one.

Golden eyes observed as the infant’s soul struggled to fight off the sliver of Voldemort’s that sought to smother and subsume it, and the woman chuckled.

“Well, well, what have we here? A stubborn little thing, aren’t you? So much of your future balances on the events of this night, all because of a mad seer’s desperate words. And yet, you have so much more potential than deserves to be wasted on such silly things, don’t you? I suppose a little push in the right direction could bring about quite the interesting change of pace, don’t you Silas?” She turned to the tall figure standing in the shadows of the now crumbling cottage.

“Always looking for something to meddle in, aren’t you mother? Even the life of an infant?” The man stepped forward as the woman scoffed.

“Bah! As if you are any different. I raised you just the same and you’ve _thrived_ under such teachings- as I expected you would. Besides,” She turned back to the slumbering child and held a hand over her before transferring a wave of energy into the infant. “What better use for the power I’ve offered than in a mortal who can put it to an interesting use? It makes things all the more exciting, don’t you think?”

Silas just shook his head in exasperation. “Why do I have to be the reasonable sibling? Why give me that job to try and argue against giving divine power to a one year old drooling horcrux of all things?” The woman just laughed.

“I certainly didn’t give you the job, you took it upon yourself all too willingly when you carved dear Damian’s head from his neck and absorbed his power so many years ago in your little spat. Your sister’s and I both warned you two what would come of your fight, now you can reap the consequences.” Silas scowled at his mother.

“Touchè mother. Though I don't see you complaining all that much about it. Damian was an insufferable fool.” The woman chuckled.

“So he was. But one does not get the pleasantness of picking the family they are given in life.” She glanced back at the sleeping Amara, a sad frown on her face. “A lesson she will have to endure the cruel path of learning it seems.” Silas nodded.

“Dumbledore will make more mistakes in the future, won’t he?” A nod and he sighed. “I’m going to have to clean up the messes he makes, aren’t I?” The woman laughed again.

“Of course you will, dear boy. What else can I expect to keep a god of death and now secrets from getting too bored? Think of it as the next few decades being able to keep you nice and busy. You should be thanking me.”

“For forcing me to babysit a hundred year old, questionably sane, wizard and eventually a likely to have been abused eleven year old girl with the essence of a god engraved into her very soul? Such a kind gift of you mother, however will I manage to thank you enough for this?”

The woman smiled. “Well I always say offer only the gifts that a person is least likely to appreciate immediately. They’ll usually come to thank you later and prove you right in the end. That or I’ll have to listen to you complaining for the next couple of decades, I can never decide which choice you’ll make these days.” She shrugged before both gods vanished with a quiet pop.

\--

If anyone were to question about the family that lived at number 4 Privet Drive, the only way to describe them was normal. 

In fact, the Dursley’s seemed to pride themselves on their normalness to the point of being almost boringly so. From Mr. Dursley’s normal job and car to Mrs. Dursley’s perfectly normal flower garden kept meticulously trimmed so as to not be overly out of the ordinary. Of course, every family has at least something about them that was out of the ordinary- some small detail, a metaphorical skeleton in their closet that they hoped would stay out of the public eye forever.

Amara Potter was the Dursleys' skeleton in their closet, or perhaps under the cupboard would be a better choice of words to use in this event. The closet would be a horrible place to hide the girl on account of her freakishness possible tainting the clothes kept within. 

Amara was the very definition of what the Dursleys’ viewed as _not normal_.

Limbs too skinny and thin after years of poor nutrition, clothes too many sizes too big on the girl’s body. But two or so details stood out, to her relatives at least, as being almost painfully freakish. 

Burning red hair that was always a tangled mess no matter how many times Aunt Petunia ran a brush or comb through it - which wasn’t very often mind you - and piercing green eyes that seemed to chill the air around her and always paled into a shade resembling grey when her temper reared its ugly head. 

Uncle Vernon’s beatings and week’s spent locked in her cupboard, however, meant that was a fairly rare occurrence as well.

But the one detail the Dursleys were at least able to somewhat manage, the culminating freakish detail that was Amara, was the jagged scar that marked her forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. A ‘souvenir’ from the car crash that apparently killed her parents when she was a baby, according to Aunt Petunia the one and only time she’d asked about it when she was six.

Amara thought it was just neat, in a weird way. Something that made her truly unique in the sense that no one would have one like it. How many car crashes could even _cause_ a lightning bolt scar across someone’s forehead?

Amara knew most people probably thought she was more than a bit odd, but she’d always had a certain fondness for the odder things in the world. Her favorite was probably the swirls of colors she could sometimes see when she was angry or sad. She may not have seen them that often outside of her cupboard and running along her own arms, but one in a while Amara was certain she’d seen a man or woman in the distance with those same swirls of color around them.

Hell, she was almost positive a _cat_ she’d seen once or twice sitting on one of the low walls across the street had swirls of green and blue to it, which was a bit odd even to the strange ten year old. 

But the thing about her appearance that even Amara found a bit too odd, were the markings along her left arm. Strange symbols that had randomly appeared on her skin the day of her seventh birthday, seemingly without cause or purpose.

Aunt Petunia had taken one look at them and paled till her face was a sickly white. The woman had a strangely worried look in her eyes as she tossed a role of linen at Amara with a muttered 'keep that arm covered at all times' before quickly walking out of the room like something was chasing her.

Seeing as the 'freakish' things that were seemingly caused by her started that same day, Amara had opted to follow her Aunt's orders without hesitation. The weird things still happened afterwards, but nothing nearly as odd as causing the entire house to start shaking had happened again since she kept the odd markings covered.

At least, until the morning of her eleventh birthday. The sight of the stern looking woman in strange green clothing was one that Amara would come to realize was the end of any sort of 'normalcy' in her life from that day forward...


End file.
